


Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

by Moransroar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Reichenbach-Related, Smut, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3743239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moransroar/pseuds/Moransroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where your soul mate's last sentence to you is tattooed on your skin, how fucked up would it be to be in love with the one who would never say such a thing to you, and who himself doesn't have a mark at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

Sebastian chuckled as Jim traced the words on his ribs with a single finger, scoffing at the short sentence, consisting of three simple words.

“I’d never say that,” Jim commented dryly, while secretly seething because _he is not_ that _sentimental._

“I know,” Sebastian replied where he lays back, eyes closed and one hand behind his head as the other travelled across Jim’s bare back.

They both knew what the words meant. They had seen it countless of times with clients of them, a few words painted on someone’s skin. Last words. In a world where soul mates existed, the universe had decided upon the most depressing of ways to show your other half that you belong together. Or, that you belong _ed_ together, because it would be the last words to ever be spoken to you.

The words made Sebastian’s heart ache, because he knew. He knew Jim would never say something like that, it just wasn’t something he saw Jim do. And Jim, Jim didn’t have words engraved in flesh. Which made Sebastian more grave about the situation, because that would mean that they weren’t soul mates after all.

He put up with it, because if it didn’t mean they belonged with each other, the sniper knew that he would eventually find something he would love more than he did Jim.

If that was possible.

Because he did, he did love Jim, so much. And he knew that there must have been _something_ that kept Jim with him, because he wasn’t all that different from the people Jim would call mundane at times. Boring. But he stayed with him, and that was what mattered, and what always had mattered.

Jim groaned, knowing what Sebastian must think about.

“’Bastian, we’ve checked everywhere, it’s just. Not. There.”

Sebastian gave a small sigh, drawing Jim in for a kiss to verify that he knew. They had looked everywhere on Jim’s body already, almost frantically once, and even Jim had made an effort for it. It meant something. Jim looking for it as well as the lack of words on his pale, milky skin.

Or maybe it meant that they would grow old together. That Sebastian wouldn’t have anything to say to Jim, because the criminal would be the first one to die of old age. But however beautiful that prospect seemed, it just didn’t fit. Jim wouldn’t live long, and neither would Sebastian. They had accepted that long ago. Still, it was something to hold onto. Hope.

“Yeah, I know,” he said again, wanting to reassure Jim of the fact that it didn’t matter. While, in fact, it did.

 

 

“Fuckin’ Holmes.”

“Language, Moran.”

Sebastian threw himself on the sofa, hands scrubbing over his face in his anger at the criminal, who came sauntering down the hall to settle next to him, all loose limbs and magnificent grace.

“He could’ve pulled the fucking trigger.”

Jim almost audibly rolled his eyes, which did nothing good for Sebastian’s exasperation.

“But he didn’t,” said Jim proudly, “I knew he wouldn’t. He’s rather special.”

The blond seethed, eyes wide as bloody saucers – and murderous at that – as he watched his company sitting next to him, smug to the core and fucking infuriating in his pride. These kinds of situations were what stepped on Sebastian’s tail, what had him so close to wanting to slap some sense into this ridiculous man. But he didn’t, he never did.

“He’s rather _special_?” Sebastian spat, sitting up, perched on the very edge of the sofa to face Jim directly, who looked utterly unfazed as always.

The raven-haired man hummed with a nonchalance that had Sebastian’s blood boiling, and in one fluent movement he was sat in Jim’s lap, straddling the man’s hips and curling his hands around his throat.

“If you pull a trick like that _one more time_ ,” Sebastian threatened as he watched Jim’s face redden slightly, although he didn’t struggle to get out of Sebastian’s grip. The bastard knew that the blond would never hurt him. Never with the intention to inflict actual pain, painful pain.

“Then what?” Jim managed with a sly grin as he arched his back, lifting his hips off the sofa to press against Sebastian. The fucking tease.

Sebastian drew a shaky breath as there was a minimum amount of friction created, but even the smallest amounts had his mind racing, his blood coursing. That was what Jim did to him, what control the man had over him, physically.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” finished Sebastian before he forced their lips together in a bruising kiss, wanting to wash away the events of that night, the pool, the detective and his blogger. He didn’t want Jim to be thinking of someone else, to think of his new plaything. Sebastian had always been Jim’s plaything, and he demanded that nothing change in that aspect by pushing his tongue past the criminal’s lips.

The sniper’s callused fingers didn’t ease their pressing against Jim’s Adam’s apple, which had the man flushed a bright red within mere moments, gasping against Sebastian’s mouth but taking all, taking _everything_ because it was _his_ and his alone.

Sebastian bit at Jim’s lips, only letting go of his throat to shove his arms between the other’s back and the sofa to lift him, no doubt ruining his back in the process, but who the fuck really cared at that moment?

The bedroom was reached more quickly than either had anticipated with the struggle they were undergoing of trying to undo buttons and slip of fabric while Jim was lifted in Sebastian’s arms. But once there, the Irish man was all but casted on the bed before Sebastian could loom over him and reclaim those plush, kiss-swollen lips. Jim took of Sebastian’s shirt, his hands wandering across a broad expense of toned chest, fingers brushing over the words as they always did. A bit of sentimentality, Sebastian called it in the confines of his own mind, even though that might not be entirely true.

Trousers and pants joined the heap of clothes on the floor despite Jim’s protest about how his Westwood had already almost been ruined once that evening.

“Fuck your suit,” Sebastian growled as he tore at the buttons of the dress shirt, earning a gasp from Jim who dug his fingernails in Sebastian’s back as a sort of revenge. But really, it was a praise, a treat.

Sebastian groaned in return and pushed Jim back on the bed, causing the nails to drag up over his scars, across the sensitive skin and leaving angry red marks. Jim almost immediately flipped over onto his stomach, arching his back and presenting that cute little arse for Sebastian to claim, but the sniper shook his head.

“No,” he said lowly, reaching over to take the bottle of lube and slick up a few fingers, reaching behind himself where he sat on his knees on the mattress instead, “I want you to fuck _me_ tonight.”

Jim glanced over his shoulder with parted lips, dark eyes gleaming at the sight of Sebastian closing his eyes as he pressed a single finger inside of himself, trying to relax with the intrusion. He was too impatient to really do a thorough job, and figured enduring the pain he was about to experience would be worth it all, so a second finger was added almost immediately.

The Irishman shifted on the bed to sit in front of Sebastian and bring his lips to the man’s neck, down his chest, over the sensitive nub of his nipple to take it between his teeth ever so lightly, causing Sebastian to jolt with the sudden electric shock that fired off in his nerves.

A third finger, stretching to a certain extent, Sebastian’s free hand coming up to fist in Jim’s dark locks and keep him exactly where he was to encourage him to stay patient. Because even though the pain would be worth it, bleeding wouldn’t.

“Lube, no condom,” Sebastian breathed and all but yanked Jim’s head back, who scurried over to the discarded bottle and slicked himself up as Sebastian lay down, facing the headboard, arse up on his stomach, “Fuckin’ _hurry_ ,” he pleaded hoarsely, carelessly wiping his fingers on the duvet as he watched over his shoulder how Jim lined up, said nothing still.

Jim had never been that quiet, Sebastian figured almost amusedly, grinning at the other. That was, until his face went blank as Jim pushed inside of him, agonisingly slowly, stretching what Sebastian’s fingers hadn't been able to achieve for him, filling up how no amount of digits could.

“F…ucking hell,” Sebastian all but blurted out, reaching behind him to grab Jim’s hip and hold him still before the man could begin to move. Overeager, Jim was most of the time. But not now, thank God. Jim bend down and pressed his chest flat to Sebastian’s back, an almost comical contrast of pale and toned, small and broad. But perfect, Sebastian found.

Jim wrapped his arms around the man’s chest and pressed his nose to the nape of Sebastian’s neck, who was desperately trying to not be so tense, to relax, to adjust. But it didn’t take too long before he rutted his hips as an encouragement for Jim to move, and so the criminal did.

“My tight little Tiger,” Jim purred close to his ear, starting off with the smallest of movements before gradually picking up pace, “You like this so much.”

There was no point denying. Sure, having Jim keening beneath him was a treat Sebastian was grateful for experiencing almost daily, but this.. this was something else entirely.

“Harder,” Sebastian managed between gritted teeth, one hand still pressing his fingers to Jim’s arse cheek, but soon losing grip and instead fisting in the fabric of the duvet that was teasing his too hard cock where it pressed against the mattress with every thrust of Jim’s hips.

Jim complied, picking up pace, snapping his hips like Sebastian desired so, and latching onto the taut muscle in the sniper’s shoulder. Orgasm build up in the pit of Sebastian’s stomach at the sharp stinging pain in his shoulder that it caused, combined with the rutting of his hips against the mattress, and fuck if he wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

But he was determined to last, not topple over the edge like a bloody teenager. He wasn’t that age anymore, that had long since passed. But it was fucking overwhelming to feel Jim pound into him, to feel him ferociously chasing his own orgasm, using Sebastian for his own pleasure and completely ignoring the blond’s throbbing cock.

“Jim..” Sebastian moaned out, earning a breathy chuckle close to his ear, “Fuck.. Tease.”

Jim gave a particularly sharp thrust, and Sebastian yelped but still forced into the movement, wanting more, _needing_.

“Please just fuckin’ touch me.”

Sebastian was about to let go of the duvet that still lay bundled up in his hands, balled into fists, when slender fingers as cold as ice wrapped around his cock and stroked, hard and fast. Sebastian lost the last amount of control he had, not knowing what attention to arch into, so he took the tender flesh of his lower lip between his teeth and bit until he bled. He tilted his head back, turning to try and catch a glimpse of Jim with a concentrated expression and that all too familiar gleam in his eyes, fixed on Sebastian.

A smile crept upon Jim’s features, all sharp teeth and malicious eyes, and he kissed Sebastian hard, the taste of copper and sweat on both of their tongues, sharing panted breaths.

“Let go, mo chuisle,” Jim purred quietly, contracting his fingers around Sebastian, and the fire in his belly was far too hot to try and contain with cooling thoughts, sending Sebastian over the edge with a few quick more strokes, and he came in hot white ropes over the bed and Jim’s fingers.

But Jim wasn’t finished yet. He bit down on Sebastian’s shoulder again, on the same exact indents in his skin as he had left earlier, intended on breaking the skin and tasting him on his lips. Sebastian moaned as it added to the intensity of his orgasm, and that was what did it for the criminal, pulsing inside of the other man with shuddery thrusts of his hips.

Jim clung to Sebastian for dear life, laughing a little breathlessly as they both collapsed onto the mattress, panting with closed eyes and heavy limbs. The Irishman pulled out and rolled off of the other, but immediately curled up into his side to try and look Sebastian in the eye, but the man had buried his face in the pillows.

“Sebby?” Jim wondered quietly, the only response he got being a small moan of approval.

“Good,” The criminal murmured in post-coital satisfaction, more than a little smug with what he had achieved despite his aching muscles, and he patted one of Sebastian’s arse cheeks, “Now come on, we’ll shower in the morning. It’s my turn to be the small spoon.”

 

 

“You sure this is gonna work?”

Jim rolled his eyes as he leaned against Sebastian’s chest, looking up at him through thick, dark eyelashes.

“It will, they are supposed to catch me, you know that.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, although reluctantly because however much he trusted Jim with these kinds of things, he didn’t trust others. And that was what could fuck this whole thing up, because even though Jim was immensely clever – unsettlingly so at times – Sherlock Holmes was still an unpredictable man. And God only knew what that blogger of his could do. Put those together…

“I know,” Sebastian admitted reluctantly, reaching up to put the dark blue cap over Jim’s hair, taking out a piece of gum and laying that on the pink tongue that the man had sticking out in anticipation.

“You say that an awful lot, yet I cannot begin to fathom when you actually _do_ know.”

Sebastian swatted at the cap, causing it to sink over Jim’s eyes who put on a petulant pout and stuck out his tongue before darting away towards his next mission, sticking his earphones in his ears as he went to buy a ticket.

“See you later, Tiger mine.”

 

 

Jim wasn’t even excited, which was a bit odd considering the circumstances. He had been looking forward to this for so long, and now he couldn’t even muster a smile.

Maybe that was because – despite the genius plan, and the perfect way out – he knew that he would leave something behind that would be out of his grasp as soon as he was done. That was perhaps the one thing that scared him, the fact that he wasn’t in control.

Sebastian had helped him be in control of himself and his moods, the ups and downs. Jim had clutched to his sniper when things became difficult, when things became too much to bear for him alone, and Sebastian had always been there to carry that burden with him, to lift the weight. Because after all, Sebastian was so much stronger than he, maybe Moran was the only one who could ever help him.

But not now, this was something he had to do alone.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What’s so important?” Sebastian asked on the other end of the line, slight irritation sounding through in his voice. Sebastian was always irritated when it was about either Sherlock Holmes or John Watson.

“Just watch him. I want you to keep a close eye on him, make sure he doesn’t interrupt.”

Sebastian sighed, but Jim could hear the click of a rifle being assembled, “Fine.”

Jim smiled a small, tired, not-in-a-too-good-mood smile at the answer. “Very good, Tiger mine.”

Things would be set in motion very soon, and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. The dominoes had been set, and the first had been toppled over by Jim Moriarty himself.

“Mm. I should go, put on a good song for our beloved detective’s arrival, don’t you think?”

Sebastian grumbled, what Jim made out as agreement nor disagreement.

“Fine, I should get to assembling this thing here. Watch Watson. Right,” it was quiet on the other side of the line for a moment, and Jim could almost hear Sebastian ponder about what to say, “…We’re eating Chinese tonight.”

Jim gave a small smile at that, even though he knew that Sebastian couldn’t see that. He should be able to hear it in his voice, “Good.”

"I know."

Another silence. Thick. There was something Sebastian wanted to say, but didn’t. And neither did Jim. Or, so he thought. The criminal knew he had to end the call, because soon he would deal with the final problem, and then all would be over. He would go back to Sebastian, who Jim knew would always stay with him, and they would go about their business as usual but without a prodding duo of men.

The words were blurted out, as if Jim couldn’t control them. As if something tore them from his throat, made his vocal chords vibrate and his lips part to push it out, to say what would leave himself as well as Sebastian utterly confused because… no. Jim took a deep breath, and ended the call before Sebastian could protest, or say anything back, and moments later his phone was ringing and the door to the roof was opened by the lanky man with the dark curls.

 

_I love you._

 

 

It wasn’t until Jim lifted his hand with the gun that he saw that ink had appeared on his knuckles, the last thing he would ever read being the last words of his lover. His soul mate. And it definitely wasn’t what Sherlock had just said to him.

 

 

Sebastian couldn’t scream anymore, since his vocal chords had given up on him. As had his muscles, his appetite, his will to live. He was drunk most of the time. But it was easy to be drunk when it was hard to stay sober. He didn’t want it any other way, because what use was it really?

It didn’t make him stronger though, it only made him weaker. It had been liquid courage at first, for keeping going where it had once been for stepping up to gorgeous ladies at a bar. Sebastian didn’t visit pubs anymore, because the people didn’t have faces that interested him, nor did they tell stories he could listen to. He himself didn’t have a story to tell, because all that there was left were memories that didn’t provide good subjects of conversation.

Sebastian’s patience had faded, as had the words on his ribs. He had begun carving them into his skin with a knife just to keep them there, still wanting the reminder even though the flesh and bone wasn’t there to touch, wasn’t there to hold.

He was drunk again. But he could still think. His fingers touched the scars on his ribs, the torn open skin from where he had just put his knife to it, but they weren’t the words that his soul mate had once said because those had gone. Along with the man himself. Fucking hell.

The ex-sniper finally understood what it felt like to be an empty shell, what those fictional characters meant when they described themselves like that. He didn’t feel a thing, even the blood that trickled down his abdomen and soaked his shirt went unnoticed by him. There was no pain though, but he deemed that the very worst of all. He would rather feel those teeth leaving their marks, or that knife pressing into his skin and leaving small initials of someone whom he knew he shouldn’t forget.

He never had.

Jim would have laughed at Sebastian’s sentimental irony, the blond thought where he stood. He looked over the edge, down, down. Where once lay a puddle, a fake puddle, of fake crimson, belonging to a fake man. Who was back now, moreover. Infuriating, that was. But Sebastian simply didn’t have the strength to care of to do anything about it. Because his hands now shook when he tried to hold a rifle, and his muscles had reduced to only being able to hold himself upright if he really needed to.

He hated the detective, but he hated his ugly empty shell more than anything.

Jim had been his soul mate, he was sure of that. Hell, he had never been this sure about anything in his life, ever.

Moreover, he had seen the physical proof.

After the autopsy, Sebastian had persuaded Molly to let him into the morgue under the pretence of being a pathologist intern that needed to be there to examine the body, and have Molly explain what exactly had happened.

Sebastian had just wanted to look at him _one more time._ But what he saw was so much more than he had bargained for.

He had left the morgue with his head spinning and tears dragging down his cheeks, leaving a surprised and slightly worried Molly behind with the body, the one that definitely _was_ Jim. His Jim. There was no one else who he knew the body of that well. Sebastian knew every freckle, every scar and imperfection, and he had cherished every single one of them throughout the past few years.

But there had been something new about him.

Now, Sebastian shuffled back from the edge slightly, looking around the roof to try and find a darkened spot in the light gravel, where the cleaning hadn’t exactly been done correctly. Sebastian could’ve done that better, if he would have wanted to.

A British Army Browning L9A1, Jim would have been proud. Marginally.

With tears in his eyes, unstoppable, he brought the black metal to his lips as he took a deep breath, and his heart put up an alarming pace as if it wanted to stop him, to tell him something.

But Sebastian wouldn’t listen.

He took another deep breath, filling his mind with the beautiful images of pale skin in contrast to dark hair, low panted breaths close to his ear, and deft fingertips wandering over his skin.

He had breath for a handful of choked out last words, forced from his lips as if it was Jim who was doing it for him as he lay his arms around Sebastian’s neck, and helped him find it in him to go, to chase. Jim. His heart.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Little Bird.”


End file.
